Night Moves

Carla was out late last night running all over town with the dogs, as usual. She “makes her rounds”… helps out at the food pantry, visits homeless haunts. She may squeeze in some dumpster diving or Goodwill hunting. Certainly there’s plenty of couch time at Barnes & Noble, and more time spent parked in their lot after they close so that she can jump onto their WiFi. She sits in her car, laptop in lap, windows half down to dilute the methane coming from the four dogs in the back seat. Cops pull up along side of her car to see why someone is sitting in an empty parking lot in a darkened car. Most of them know her and move on. She may go to Steak & Shake to sit and talk with a group of young people who gather there in the wee hours before she works her way back home by way of the Flagler Hospital. She checks to see if any of her homeless peeps are there and if they are alright. And I never know what to expect when I get up. This morning I found a T-Shirt that says I‘m “Accepted & Forgiven” so I feel pretty good about that, a pair of board shorts with tinsel hanging from one pocket, a Western belt buckle in the shape of a big silver star (which I immediately mounted on the frame of a large mirror over a table by the kitchen…you can see it toward the top left here), 8 chocolate éclairs, a blue stoneware vase with an opening in the shape of a flower, a tin roasting pan filled with leftovers from the community meal (food for the dogs), 9 tall, thin apothecary bottles with corks, and 4 very large cabbages. Carla, and the four dogs, are out cold, and I’m off to work…

Joan

Joan was sitting in her car, letting it idle in the parking lot of Ketterlinus Elementary School when I first met her. Carla had already gotten together with Joan several times at various food coops and thrift stores. They shared common interests in organic produce, alternative health care, proactive wellness choices, and, of course, the girls. Ellie and Hannah were about to shoot out of the main school doors like seeds from a squeezed tomato, running anxiously toward the street where Garry the crossing guard would stop them and escort the whole group across, mama duck style. We were both there to pick them up. Joan was afraid to turn off her car, it had a starting problem, and when I leaned into the driver side window to say hello, I could see the gravel of the parking lot through the hole in the floorboard between Joan’s feet. I liked her instantly. Smart, quick to laugh, I immediately sensed a kinship, a similarity of lifestyle, that Carla had already picked-up on. She liked Joan too. Hannah and Ellie went on to become best friends, spending endless hours at Joan’s house in North city or at our place in the Shores. Later on, it was their house on Vilano where the girls so loved their long days filled with beach time and time to just hang out with Joan. We all did. The kids played, while those of us masquerading as adults put on new music that we cared about, and drank a beer, or four (OK, maybe five, but certainly no more than that…unless you have video tape proving me wrong…) Hannah and Ellie spent 90% of their time, two or three summers in a row, at the bottom of the pool behind our Anastasia Island house. Joan taxied, we taxied. And there was always welcome time to visit on either end of our driving duties. Joan transformed a barren desert of a back yard at her Vilano house into a tropical nursery and gave me hints on how to turn my thumb green. Mostly they didn’t work, my thumb seems to be defective. Joan had a touch though, with plants, animals, photography, and most of all, with people. She reminded me of my own Grandmother in that way, calm, selfless, wise…Joan seemed to me to be one of the most grounded and balanced people I ever knew. A rock. Eventually, Ellie went on to become a sorority girl, a nurse, and her Mom’s housemate. Hannah became a gypsy and traveled the world. But whenever Hannah came back into town, a visit with Joan was at the top of her “to do” list. She wanted to see Ellie, to catch up on their very different lives, compare notes. But she needed to see Joan. For Hannah, time spent with Joan, was how it may well be for a young Karate student visiting with the master…this is how it’s done, this is what matters. Life lessons. It was like that for me too. Joan was the life master in her own unassuming, warm way. One of the good guys, among the very best. Thanks for that, Joan, and thanks for the memories…